stitch me the fabric of fall
by LizBee
Summary: After the birth of her second child, Ursa approaches Azulon with a request.


**Notes: **Written for the White Lotus Lunar New Year Exchange 2012 (Year of the Dragon). Depicts domestic abuse.

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><p><strong>stitch me the fabric of fall<strong>

by LizBee

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><p>A month and a day after the birth of her daughter, Ursa stepped out of her apartments into the palace garden.<p>

She carried the baby herself, Zuko toddling in their wake. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him cradling his soldier doll, mimicking the way she held the baby. She could almost pretend they were alone, but the servants kept intruding: nurses for each of the children, a woman carrying fresh diapers, another carrying food and drink, a fourth bearing a book of poetry for Ursa and a tsungi horn to play for Zuko if he became restless...

_What is privilege without responsibility?_ Ursa wondered. There was an echo of her mother's voice in the thought, and that mocking tone Ursa associated with subversion and politics and her father shutting himself in his study for days at a time.

Her mother would have scoffed at the servants, at Ursa's heavy, impractical robes, her soft hands.

_There is honour in self-sufficiency, my daughter._

_My honour is bound up in my husband and children_, Ursa told her mother's ghost, and for once the voice fell silent.

It had been high summer when she shut herself away from the world and prepared to give birth. Now it was autumn, and there was a decided chill in the air. Ursa clutched the baby close, shielding her from the breeze. She was stronger and healthier than Zuko had been, but this was a delicate time. Li and Lo had argued for her to stay indoors another week, or to at least leave the children inside.

Three years ago, as a new bride, Ursa would have been afraid to cross Azulon's concubines. Now she was older, almost twenty, mother to two royal children, and those old women could not touch her.

They went out to the turtle-duck pond. Ursa led Zuko down to the water while the servants retreated a little, pretending to be invisible.

"Duck," said Zuko. "Duck-duck." He bounced as he spoke.

"Turtle-duck," Ursa corrected him. "Turtle-duck."

"Duck-duck." He squatted by the water's edge, holding out his soldier doll to the turtle-ducks, and launched into a semi-coherent monologue about his soldier riding ducks and living in a shell, and possibly something about dragons. Ursa adjusted the baby - sleeping already; she was as contented as Zuko had been fractious - and thought about her plans.

"-Dragon BLOW HIM UP," Zuko was saying. He threw his hands out and jumped to indicate the size of the explosion, to the dismay of the turtle-ducks.

"Come and sit with me," Ursa told him. She made a V with her fingers and summoned a tiny bolt of lightning to crackle between them. Zuko followed it with his eyes, keeping his hands tucked into his sleeves as she had taught him. Ozai had mocked her lightning until she hit him with it, pressing her hand into his chest and sending him flying across the training grounds, his skin burnt where she had touched him.

They didn't spar together any more.

"Dragon?" Zuko asked.

"Most of the dragons are gone."

"Why?"

"They're old. They're dying."

_Your grandfather offers prizes to people who kill them._

Ozai wanted to follow in his father's footsteps and kill a dragon. More precisely, he wanted to become a dragonslayer before Iroh did, which was why he was in the northern islands and had yet to see his daughter's face. This was his third such expedition. His third failure.

The scroll, slipped inside Ursa's belt, seemed terribly heavy.

_I will return within the week_, Ozai had written. _I want to petition the Fire Lord for command of the sixth battalion. He cannot refuse me this time. Have the children ready. Let him see that I've done my duty as a son, and now must serve my nation._

_Maybe_, whispered the voice of Ursa's mother, _he'll get himself killed, and you'll be free._

_I can free myself_, Ursa thought.

She plucked strands of grass from the ground, burned tiny holes in them to make Zuko laugh, and repeated the thought silently like a mantra: _I can free myself. I can free myself._

There was movement in the distance. Ursa's servants were standing to attention.

"The Fire Lord is coming."

She looked down, smiling. She had timed this well.

Ozai was a master of creating family scenes for his father's benefit. And Ursa was a good wife; she learned from her husband's example.

"Daughter-in-Law."

Even now, an old man on the verge of becoming frail, Azulon was intimidating. Ursa kept her eyes down, murmuring to Zuko to bow to his grandfather.

"You shouldn't be out, child," the Fire Lord said. Bony fingers touched her hair. "Surely it can't be good for the baby."

"She's a daughter of fire. She should feel the sun."

Azulon brushed a wisp of the baby's hair and said, "As is her mother." Carefully he lowered himself to the ground. "This is a very pretty scene you've constructed, Princess Ursa. More natural and charming than Ozai's attempts." His smile vanished and his voice became cold. "So what is it you want from me?"

Ursa lowered her gaze, her heart racing.

"A separation from my husband, Fire Lord," she said.

"Ah." Azulon sounded unsurprised. "And requested informally, so no gossip will reach Ozai. Well done."

"My lord?"

"And why does the last scion of a disgraced minor house reject the Fire Lord's son?"

Damn him, damn him, he knew already, yet he wanted her to spell it out-

Keeping her voice down - not that Zuko would understand, even if he were listening - Ursa said, "Prince Ozai is … capricious. Sometimes he chooses to be a loving husband and a loyal prince. On other days he's ambitious and indifferent."

She hesitated, thinking of the face he revealed in the privacy of their bedchamber, the expectation that she respond to his touch coupled with with an odd dispassion that bordered on contempt. As if she were no more than an unusually expensive courtesan, to be used and discarded, and sex another skill to be mastered.

She couldn't say this out loud. The shame would be overwhelming. Instead she said, "Every face he wears is a mask, but he's hollow inside. I don't know how to make him whole. He scares me."

"And you want to leave?"

"I could take the children to Ember Island, or to my father's estate. We'd come back for festivals and public events. No one would have to know."

"And what would you have me tell Ozai?"

"Anything," Ursa whispered.

Azulon's slap caught her by surprise. She cried out, reeling, almost letting the baby slip from her arms. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she tasted blood. Zuko had started crying, and the baby was screaming, and blood was pounding in Ursa's ears. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the servants moving, unsure whether to come to her rescue or avoid the Fire Lord. Finally, Zuko's nurse swept in and scooped him up, hushing his screams as she carried him off.

The Fire Lord ignored them. All of his attention was on Ursa. His hand was gripping her chin, holding her in place.

"Listen to me, girl," he said, his voice soft, "my father showed mercy when he let your mother keep her honour. Your grandfather was a traitor to the Fire Nation and to Sozin himself. Everything you have, you owe us." He yanked her forward, like a dog on a leash. "I know my son's failings. Probably better than you. I hoped having a family of his own might steady him, but obviously the job was beyond you."

"I-"

"You can leave if you want." She could feel Azulon's hot breath on her cheek. "I'll take your family's estate, their wealth, their honour. As my father should have. You can sell yourself on the streets for all I care. The children will be told you died."

"My rights-"

"Your rights are in my hands. If you leave, the children stay."

She hesitated, and hated herself for it. But she could be free; she could build herself a new life, claim an honour that came from within, that wasn't bestowed by an outside authority. The children would be safe, educated well, raised to privilege and power.

And they would be alone. Ozai might take an interest in them if they developed some skill he found valuable, and Azulon would ensure they had the very finest material comforts. Iroh would be kind, but he scarcely had time to spare for Lu Ten any more, let alone a niece and nephew.

Sensing her defeat, Azulon released her.

"I took a gamble on you," he said. "I'm disappointed."

Ursa kept her eyes on the ground as he pulled himself to his feet. Inside she was breaking apart, anger and despair flooding her heart, but outwardly she was calm, cradling her crying daughter, keeping her safe.

"Princess?"

The servant's voice was gentle. Ursa did not look up.

"Come inside, Princess Ursa. Let us tend to your face."

Numb, she allowed herself to be drawn to her feet and led inside. Zuko was still making snuffling noises, but she could spare him no comfort. She was realising how badly she had miscalculated, and what it had cost her.

The servants fussed, applying ice to her face, helping her rinse her mouth out. They brought her tea and taro cakes, and every gesture rang with unspoken sympathy. Because they were free women, however low-born, and even a colonial peasant had the right to leave her husband and keep her children.

_And the most senior woman of the royal family is - what?_

"Leave us," said Ursa. "I'll look after the children."

Zuko rushed to her as soon as they were alone. Ursa taught him new songs to sing to his baby sister, but her mind was far away.

_We can still escape._

_And go where?_

The Fire Lord would never let stop searching for his grandchildren.

Ursa bowed her head and closed her eyes. She had squandered an opportunity here, if it had ever truly existed at all.

Her face had almost healed by the time Ozai returned home, and make-up hid the bruises that remained. He examined the baby carefully, smiling as her eyes followed the fire at his fingertips.

"We'll name her for my father," he said. "It will please him."

Ursa held her tongue.

The Fire Lord accepted Ozai's tribute with a thin smile, accepting the offering but privately despising it. Ursa watched him as the Fire Sages entered Azula's name in the family scrolls, a man as indifferent and dangerous as his son. She thought she knew him now.

_And what will you do with that knowledge?_ her mother whispered.

_Wait. Watch. Prepare._

One day her opportunity would come again. She cradled Azula in her arms, breathing in her sweet baby scent, and promised her: _On my honour, I won't leave you behind. _

Looking up, she met Azulon's gaze, and smiled.

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><p><em>end<em>


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